Blood Red Beauty
by Victorian Asylum
Summary: "She looks oddly beautiful, lying there so vulnerable. Her shields are down, features serene. He can make out the faint freckles dotting her face." Slightly AU oneshot. Different take on the scene in which Max tries to cut out the chip.


He always keeps an eye on her, though he does it from a distance. Whether she realizes it or not, it doesn't matter. To him, it is an obligation. Besides, if he doesn't watch, then she'll end up killing herself.

After all, she isn't invincible, no matter what she may think, and the fall from Cloud 9 is going to be a big one. So he continues his vigilant watch, intervening when her hot-headed personality carries her too far.

Whether she realizes it or not, she has a shadow. More than a shadow. She has her own little hero, who won't stop until she is safe. Even if he has to lock her in up a bubble wrap room. (Which seems like a good idea at times.)

But her shadow has a flaw. Two, actually. For one thing, he can't be everywhere at once, no matter how hard he tries. And whenever he is not with her, that is usually when she gets herself hurt. Because she can't help it.

His biggest flaw, at least to himself, is that he can't decipher her. Sure, he can pretty much tell what she is thinking most of the time. After all, it is written all over her face, and shown through her body language. Still, she can be cryptic when she wants to be, and when she is, he has no chance of getting any sort of information out of her.

He may be able to tell what she is about to do, but he can't give any rhyme or reason to it. He doesn't get what makes her tick, and he most certainly doesn't understand why she constantly gets herself in dangerous, life-threatening situations.

When he finds her lying on a beach, surrounded by ruby red sand soaked down the every last atom with her blood, he acts first and questions later. His legs react before his mind does, and before he can process the scene, he is kneeling at her side.

She looks oddly beautiful, lying here so vulnerable. Her shields are down, features serene. He can make out the faint freckles dotting her face. This is probably the most peaceful and relaxed he has ever seen her, and he almost decides to leave her alone.

Then he remembers to look around, and he sees the splashes of crimson all around him. Something warm permeates his jeans and he looks down. A tiny button of blood (her blood) is blossoming where his knee is, pressed against her mutilated arm.

Oh.

He immediately understands the situation. But not the reason behind her actions. Didn't she know the consequences? Of course she did, she wouldn't forget. He should have expected this. How could he, though? He never thought that even she would pull such a stupid stunt.

He grabs her by the shoulders and does the only thing he can really think of. He shakes her rather violently. "Wake up," he commands. She doesn't stir. A faint breeze ruffles her slightly curled hair. A tiny wave brushes the edge of his shoes.

He shakes her again, worry beginning to creep in. His knuckles are turning white. "Wake up, dammit!" His voice cracks slightly at the end. No response. He clenches his jaw, fighting back panic. "This isn't fucking funny, Max."

He releases her and leans back, exhaling sharply. An anxious hand runs through his hair. There is no going around it. She can try and hate him later for it, but she brought this on herself.

She doesn't look like herself, dressed almost entirely in white, so safe and sound and clean. Her arm is neatly, cleanly wrapped. They said that she nicked some vital arteries when she cut, which led to the profuse bleeding. But they stitched it up, gave her some blood (his blood) and told him she needed a few days rest at most.

He sits in a a chair he pulled up by the side of her bed. For a long time he stares out the window on the other side of the room, listening to nothing but the steady sound of her breathing, a heavenly sound after the horrors of earlier.

There is a light tug on his sleeve that snaps him back to reality. He turns his head slightly and is greeted with the very scared face of an eight year old. Baby blues eyes round with worry peer back at him.

He forgot there were others in the room with him. How long had he been lost inside himself? He smiles ever so slightly down at the kid, who visibly relaxes. He definitely isn't as good at this kind of stuff as she is, but he can make do.

"You guys have been sitting here for a while. Why don't you go stretch your legs, maybe see if you can find some food?"

"But I don't mind sitting!" The kid protests. He opens his mouth for another round but a pale hand on his shoulder stops him. The young blond turns and looks up the the older boy towering over him.

"Lets leave 'em alone for a bit, Gazzy. Fang _obviously _wants some alone time with Max..." he ends with a noncommittal shrug of his bony shoulders and leads the small entourage out the door and down the hall, tossing a smirk over his shoulder.

Clenching his jaw as they leave, he returns his gaze to the girl in front of him, only to find a sleep-laden pair of brown eyes staring back at him, framing a face full of slightly pained amusement. He sighs lightly.

"How long have you been awake, Max?"

She shrugs and focuses her gaze on the ceiling, an awfully boring white dotted with a million little bumps. "Long enough, I suppose."

An awkward silence settles in broken only by even breathing and the faint drip of the IV. He blinks and frowns, pondering how to break the ice. He settles on, "They have you on suicide watch, you know. I tried to explain what happened. They wouldn't have it."

She snorts at that and all at once he feels better, like the weight of the world has been lifted off of his chest. "Figures as much. See a kid with wings and they're fine. Find out the kid has a chip in their arm? Outrageous." She sits up and in one fluid motion rips the IV out of her arm. "C'mon, I'm checking myself out."

He rises as she flings the covers off her legs with a slight hiss, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up. He moves around to face her as she stands and something in his expressions stops her.

"Why?"

She looks at him for the longest time, her face blank and devoid of any hint of emotion. Then she opens her mouth and responds with, "Why what?"

"Don't 'Why what?' me! You know damn well what I mean. Spill it, Max."

At this she looks away, eyebrows drawn together. She subconsciously moves her hand over the bandaged wound. Presses her thumb into the worryingly deep cut. Winces. "I had to get it out." She answers quietly.

He turns his head ever so slightly, but doesn't speak. He simply waits for her to gather her thoughts and continue. She takes a deep breath and plows on. "It's just... everything has been piling up lately. More and more attacks and we're constantly on the run and constantly getting hurt. And on top of that I have that goddamn voice telling me to do this and that all the time and I can't get a break! It's been driving me up the wall and I wanted it gone. So I figured since I'm the only one who has a chip and a voice in my head that the chip is where the voice comes from. And I just..." she trails off and clutches her arm tightly. "I had to get it out, no matter what."

Suddenly rivulets are glimmering down her cheeks and she brings the heel of her hand up to her eyes, rubbing hard to stop to flowing tears. Whether she's crying because she didn't get the chip out, or it was simply from all the stress in her life, he doesn't know.

"Max, you are an idiot. You were told you could get it out even with surgery without losing the use of your arm. And you tried it with a fucking shell? All you achieved was slicing open veins and knocking yourself unconscious from blood loss. You were bleeding out on a beach in the middle of nowhere! You could have died, Max! And then where would the rest of us be, huh? Dead, that's where! Without you we die, you hear?"

"Fang..." she begins.

He cuts her off with a very brief hug, a millisecond or two in length. "No. Just shut up and let it sink in." He marches around the bed and to the door without looking back, still fuming. "Don't you dare think of doing anything like that again."

He lets it slide this time, lets it trickle through his fingers like sand. Maybe because she let him in, just this once. Spilled her mind out through her mouth in a way he could understand. Or maybe because she's already been through hell. But he doesn't press it.

And he doesn't forgive himself. No matter how beautiful she may seem surrounded by the purest kind of blood, he won't, can't, let her fall to that kind of fate. She's meant for so much more, he knows.

He won't allow such a terrible lapse in vigilance to end a life like that so soon.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: **Yes, the ending is very half-assed. I was originally going to end it with Fang's "don't you dare do that again" statement, but I felt that it wouldn't tie in well with the begging of the story, so I added the end. I don't know it it'll make or break this oneshot. Don't ask why I didn't use their names. I'm not even sure myself. Sorry if it makes the story confusing.


End file.
